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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26826823">Fly Your Banner, Undaunted</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Voltron: Legendary Defender</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anxiety, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Demisexual Pidge | Katie Holt, Depression, Eventual Keith/Lance (Voltron), Gay Shiro (Voltron), Homesickness, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, Suicidal Thoughts</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 11:01:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,775</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26826823</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Lance McClain. Outwardly confident, talkative, and very much the picture of what could be described as a hopeless flirt, he's not all that. This is a fic about Lance miserable moving away from home and everything he knows. There's this guy he likes, Keith. But Lance is struggling with feeling good enough for him, for anyone.</p><p>(a/n): this fic may be triggering to some people. proceed with caution. digression is advised.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. 1. leaving is easy, but remembering hurts</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>please attempt to ignore any grammatical mistakes or punctuation errors. I'm typing way too fast and not rereading anything i've written. first draft posing as an actual completed story. feel free to leave comments.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>     <em>The public library is here is</em> <em>enormous</em>, Lance thinks, as he looks up in awe at the domed ceiling that would be more suited to a building that housed a botanical garden rather than books. Overhead were high, arched windows, letting in plenty of natural light would be perfect for sketching. Feeling a growing sense of nervous excitement, he decided to find out how to get upstairs, he just <em>had</em> to sit at one of those café booth seats at the balcony, he decided. The view out over the lake had to be <em>amazing</em>.</p><p>     Twenty minutes and one short wait in line for coffee and stuffed bagels later, Lance was seated in the corner booth overlooking the lower floor of the library, and facing the window overlooking the water. If he craned his neck, he could just barely see the entrance to the marina and the observation deck of the aquarium. He'd chosen this booth over the others because there was a wall of planted vegetation between him and the rest of the café tables</p><p>     Truth be told, the aquarium was mostly why he chose to go to school here rather than back home, but Lance would never tell anyone that. No, that shallow reason was for him, and him alone. He took a bite of his bagel, relishing the cream cheese, onions, and ham as he pulled out his sketch book and charcoal pencils. Originally, he'd been planning on working in the aquarium, but he had heard the food here was good and his stomach had gotten the better of him. </p><p>     The afternoon went by more quickly than expected, as Lance got more and more absorbed in his work. Pages of pencil sketches and charcoal smudge works littered the table by the time he realized he was hungry again. He checked his phone to see what time it was, and was surprised to find that it was after seven in the evening. With a sigh, he packed up his belongings, carefully stowing them inside his old and rather beaten up backpack and wiped off the table, before heading home for the night. </p><p>     Outside, the night air was bitter and damp, and the light hooded jacket that had been plenty warm enough for earlier in the day was now much too thin. Lance shivered and quickly made his way to the bus stop, where he bounced on the balls of his feet and paced to keep warm. More than one passerby eyed him suspiciously as he moved about, back and forth. By the time the bus arrived, he was sure that his face and fingers were frozen stiff. Despite him having pulled his hands into his sleeves, where he had held the open ends shut to keep out as much of the cold as he could. When he boarded the bus Lance noticed that it was nearly empty, with the only other passengers being an older, heavyset woman who was wearing a bright pink coat much to small for her and a guy who looked to be around Lance's age.</p><p>     Ducking his head as he went by Lance sat in the back, as far away from them as he could, where he shivered violently and flexed his fingers painfully until the stiffness went away, hoping no one would notice.</p><p>     They didn't.</p><p>     A few more people filed onto the bus at the next stop to replace the pink coat lady, who exited the bus rather unsteadily on a pair of shiny black pumps. Lance wondered where she was going. <em>The theater, a bar, or maybe she's a hooker?</em> He wondered. Amá and Papi had warned him about the fallen women in the bigger cities, he hadn't had the heart to tell them that he already knew this. There was, after all, the internet at his disposal. But he had nodded vehemently during their many talks about being careful and who or what to watch out for when moving to a densely populated place. </p><p>     ***</p><p>     "You cannot trust just anyone, Lance. You trust too easily, by beautiful boy." His mami had said those words, yet again, over their last breakfast together before Lance's sister took him to the station on the way to work. Her shiny hair hung in thick, dark curls around her face, sprung free from the braid she had kept it in overnight. She'd already done her makeup, though, precisely penciled brows and lined eyes, mascara. She didn't need makeup, but no one could deny that she was stunning when she wore it. Right now, her brows were pulled together, worried as her eyes while she spoke to her son.</p><p>     Lance swallowed his eggs and smiled at her, expertly masking how excited and nervous he was to live alone for the first time in his life. Away from family. Away from this farm, the only place and people he'd ever known.</p><p>     Truthfully, it scared him. It felt like cliff diving.</p><p>     "I'll be careful, Amá." he reached across the table to grasp her worn hand in his own, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Besides, I'm just a call away if you worry." </p><p>     Her big, sad eyes bore into him, even before they brimmed with tears. She rose from her seat and pulled him into a fierce hug. "Oh, Lance," hot tears fell into his hair. "I will <em>miss</em> you."</p><p>     ***</p><p>     With a shaky breath, Lance sits back in his seat where he hugs his backpack to himself trying to find comfort for himself in a place without hugs or kisses from his mama. This is a cold, dark place without warm cooking smells and the constant, irritating, familiar noise of too many siblings and four dogs, two cats, and the farm animals outside. </p><p>     But, the thing is, hugging something like a backpack close doesn't help because no matter how much he might need it, it doesn't hug back.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. 2. In Need of a Roommate</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Lance has been living in the city for a few weeks now. He feels lonely after leaving a home packed full of sibling, pets, and family. While he can pay his way by himself, he decides to search for a roommate to keep him company.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>disclaimer: the way iowa is portrayed in this story does not exist in real life.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>     The flier reads, <strong>ROOMMATE WANTED: I am a single male, age 23, and have a spacious, four bedroom apartment in the downtown area with lots of natural light. Looking for one or two roommates, male or female (I grew up with many siblings) so I do not mind if you make some noise. Pets are welcome, but the limit set by the building manager is two dogs under 90lbs and two cats per apartment. I require that you pay any pet deposits and reoccurring fees (deposit is $150 for dogs and $75 for cats, plus a monthly fee of $20 for dogs and $20 for cats) or pay for any damage caused by your pets. I am a fine arts major, currently studying classical portrait and landscapes and will be using one of the bedrooms as a type of studio space. The other three bedrooms will be up for grabs. All basic rent and utilities will be split evenly. As of now, with just me living here, utilities have cost around $215 each month and rent is $890. Please call with inquiries or if you want to set up a time to look at the apartment at (000) 333-4444. If I miss your call I am at work or in class, so please leave your name and number, and I will get back to you as soon as possible.  </strong></p><p>     Lance eyes it on the bulletin board and wonders if he's making a mistake. But, really, what's the worst thing that can happen? He wills himself to walk away from his plea for a roommate and prays to a god he's never really believed in, that he won't attract any weirdos. It's been a few months since he moved here and the familiar sting of missing his family hasn't lessened much. That, and living in a four bedroom apartment by himself is just absurd. But when he had applied online from home in Iowa, that had been the only place taking applicants, and this was what the had. Lance will never admit it, but he made a lot of money dancing back home.</p><p>     <em>A lot</em>. </p><p>     His hometown was right off of of Route 6, one of the longest highways in the United States. The only thing that ever bothered him was the fact that the farm was a 45 minute drive away from the edge of Georgiana, Iowa. Which meant that once he drove his poor, beat up Chrysler minivan to the outskirts of town, it was still another fifteen minutes to his workplace. </p><p>     Where he worked was a secret he kept from his mama, something that Lance had always felt a little guilty about. He worked in the one place that his mama and papi wholly disapproved of. The solitary nightclub in Georgiana. To his family, Lance worked the evening and night shifts because he worked at the gas station, which had been true up until his 18th birthday. He just neglected to tell them that he quit his minimum wage job to work in the den of sin they were always talking badly about. Never, in a million years would he ever dream of telling his beloved Amá that he, her son, was working in such  a den of iniquity. For five years, Lance had lived in constant fear of one of his family members finding out where he really worked. </p><p>     Luckily, they hadn't. But nor had they found out his--<em>probably ridiculous</em>--pride that he was the highest paid and sought after dancer there. Nights when he worked the stage rather than the bar were always more lively and packed full of people. This was one of the reasons he knew more about real life than his parents expected him to. You could only work in a place like that for so long before you met the more...unsavory...kinds of people. The older men who wanted to take him across the street to the pay-by-the-hour motel, those men and women who wanted Lance to take them to the back for a quick fuck between sets. He never took anyone up on it, the though wasn't repulsive to him, he just didn't feel that screwing drunk people sounded appealing. That, and he had been warned. Warned by the other dancers against hooking up with clients, since it was what happened before the prostitution and drugs started. Just once, they said, then it would be twice or more. He'd seen it happen to one of his friends there.</p><p>     And it was just like that.</p><p>     Just once, she'd said, rolling here pretty hazel eyes at him while she applied makeup in front of their shared dressing room mirror. But he'd watched her, silently, as she pulled her life apart at the seams over time. It had been just once. But then it was twice, then three times, and more. He tried to stop her then, tried to get other people involved. the club fired her, probably in hopes of keeping the police out of it, but it was too late. She'd met someone who made drugs look like <em>so</em> much fun, she'd go on about it when Lance would meet her for coffee, then she stopped talking to him, stopped showing up to meetings they'd scheduled. She had moved on to better people, she felt. People who did the same crap she was doing. And then, just like that, she was gone. </p><p>     Even his mama and papi had seen it in the news, the pictures of Kathrine's emaciated body, immaculately dressed and floating facedown in the town square fountain. It was ruled as a suicide, but Lance still wonders if that was really it or if she got swallowed up in debt. That must have been it, because even after the news came out that she had committed suicide, the police kept sniffing around the club a few weeks after they were allowed to reopen. Some of the girls who Kathrine had been hanging out with hadn't showed back up since the police came. </p><p>     It was no wonder why. </p><p>     Here, Lance had found another club to work at. This one, though, hosted its clientele between the hours of 11:00 a.m. and 3:00a.m. saving the eight hours between for deep cleaning, restocking, and food prep. Never in his life had he thought there would be a place like this that was open with dancers so early in the morning, but here it was. and, honestly, he loved it. </p><p>     "Dude, are you okay?" their bartender, Joyce cocked a pierced brow at him. </p><p>     Lance blinks, confused. "What?"</p><p>     "Are you okay?" she repeats. "You were zoned out for, like, fifteen minutes, working on the same damn glass." </p><p>     Sheepishly, he looks at the spotless snifter he'd been wiping and slots it gently into the rack. He shrugs. "I'm good," he says and mutters a half-hearted excuse about being tired. Joyce gives him a look that tells him she doesn't buy it, but she lets it go. </p><p>     "When you're done with that, Rosco needs help in the kitchen." she says, sounding nonplussed, then bumps her hip off the counter where she'd been leaning on it and goes to set up tables.</p><p>     With a grumble of displeasure, Lance finishes up with glasses. He very much does <em>not</em>  want to go work with Rosco, the owner, while he's in a bad mood, but he goes anyway. </p><p>     Rosco sets him to work cutting vegetables and as soon as Lance finishes precutting veggies, Rosco asks if Lance is on stage tonight. He shakes his head, saying that, no, he's waiting on tables. Rosco nods slowly, looking thoughtful, and reties his white blonde hair back into its signature ponytail, telling Lance that he wants him to take the night off. When Lance opens his mouth to protest, Rosco holds up a hand. "I'll pay you what you would have earned," he cuts Lance off before he can speak. "You just look like you need to,"  his eyes dart away for a second "--I don't know. Just take the night off, okay? Be safe."</p><p>     Lance's face burns hot with shame he can't pinpoint as he snatches his stuff out of his locker, slamming it closed. Normally, he'd say goodbye to everyone, cheerily waving as he leaves, wishing them all well. But today he slips out, unnoticed. </p><p>     A steady, consuming feeling is growing in his chest, like he's going to throw up, but his stomach feels fine. Maybe he just needs to sleep.</p><p>     <em>Yeah, that's probably it</em>. He thinks, remembering the last months of his senior year of high school, how completely, <em>relentlessly</em>, nauseous and shaky he'd been from lack of sleep. How <em>cold</em> he was all the time from the constant anxiety that his family would figure out how he was making money. He was cold now, anxious about--what? work? school? Both? He didn't know what he had to worry about, now. But there it was, the aching sureness that something was wrong. </p><p>     Lance closed his eyes and blew a long, slow breath through barely parted lips, trying to get the nervous flutter out of his stomach. </p><p>     He opened his eyes to see the guy across from him, glaring at him. Lance felt himself flush and look away, embarrassed, but the image is etched in his mind. Tall, slim Asian looking guy with a shoulder length shag haircut, defined arched brows and startlingly intense dark blue grey eyes. He was wearing a worn pair of dark jeans and a black hoodie. Lance squeezed his eyes shut to block it out. Had he blown on that guy? That guy was all the way over there, though, so probably not. Right? But, what if his breath had traveled all the way over there. The flutter in his stomach tightened into a nauseous cramp, leaving the flutter to his hands. His joints felt like jelly. He was going to throw up, he can feel it wanting to crawl up his esophagus. Abruptly, Lance stood yanked the emergency stop cord and darted to the front as soon as the bus driver had pulled over. </p><p>     "That isn't for you to use to get off just because you missed your stop, kid!" the driver is upset, his face purpling beneath the grey goatee. "Next time just wait for the next stop!" He shouts at Lance's back as Lance runs for two blocks without stopping. When he does, he promptly vomits into the nearest trashcan, causing a few of the people walking by to make noises of surprise and disgust. One lady asks if he's okay as Lance rights himself, wiping his mouth with a shaking sleeved hand. He nods, wordlessly, bracing his hands on his knees to catch his breath. He nods again, this time for himself.</p><p>     Yeah, he's okay. </p><p>     He has to be. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. 3. Hello? It's Destiny Calling</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>sorry my chapters are nearly as short as my attention span. also, the writing format? what is a congruent and chronological storyline? Ha. IDK</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>     The first couple of people who came to look at the apartment made Lance uncomfortable. He turned them down.</p><p>     The fourth and fifth applicants were actually friends with one another and Lance liked them immediately. And so that is how, on an absolutely <em>frigid</em> November morning, he was awake. Bright and shiny fucking <em>early</em>, to help them move in. Hunk, a robotics major, as it turned out, loved to cook, bake, and generally work with food. Which, as lance was useless in the kitchen, was nice. However, Lance silently cursed this trait as he carried what was probably the fifth box of heavy kitchen appliances/cooking utensils up the eight flights of stairs to the apartment. The elevator had ceased working last night, and had yet to be repaired.</p><p>     Lucky them. </p><p>     Pidge, on the other hand, had so much stuff that she had enlisted the help of her brother, Matt. He didn't say much beyond making obscure references to tv shows and movies that Lance<em> refused</em> to admit he understood, on the very simple grounds that Pidge seemed absolutely exasperated with her brother's behavior. Hunk, gamely played peacemaker between the two so easily that Lance figured it was a regular occurrence. Their behavior had to make him smile, though. It reminded him so much of his younger twin siblings, growing up. Matt left around 11, saying that he had to go to work.  </p><p>     Around noon, Hunk made them all very tasty smoothies for lunch that they could drink between carting loads of stuff up the stairs.</p><p>     By 2:00 p.m. they were finished bringing stuff inside and all elected to take a break before they started unpacking. Hunk went grocery shopping, announcing that he needed to get stuff for dinner and Pidge, to Lance's surprise, cornered him as soon as Hunk was gone. She was tiny, maybe five feet tall and barely reached lance's chest. She narrowed her round amber eyes at him from behind the wire rimmed glasses and asked, "you're not homophobic are you?"</p><p>     "Uh, no?" Lance was caught completely off guard by the question and backed up a little, bumping into a box on the floor labeled "Bathroom Stuff"</p><p>     "Good," she says, face easing into a grin. "Because I forgot to ask before, and it would be rather unfortunate to have a conflict of interest."</p><p>     "So, are you a--"</p><p>     "Lesbian?" she interjects. "No, but I am demisexual."</p><p>     Lance nods, not sure what demisexual means, but very sure that it didn't concern him in the slightest. </p><p>     He and pidge sit in awkward silence for a few moments before Pidge announces that she's going to "sort out her crap" and for him to let her know if he needs anything. </p><p>     When she's disappeared into her room, Lance goes to his and shuts the door. For the first time he wonders just what he's gotten himself into. And then, ineveitably, he wonders if he's going to regret it. </p><p>***</p><p>The adjustment period of living with Pidge and Hunk was fairly short, being that Lance and Hunk learned not to bother Pidge before ten in the morning. They learned that all of them stayed up late, enjoyed Star Wars more than Star Trek, and that eating pizza two nights a week was absolutely acceptable. Lance also discovered, one night when he drifted off to sleep while they watched a movie, that 1.) Hunk was the best person to cuddle, and 2.) that the large, muscular Samoan man actually<em> liked</em> being cuddled. So now whenever they watch movies, Hunk and Lance curl up together and Pidge rolls her eyes at them at first but eventually, wordlessly, joins them a little ways into the movie, claiming that she's there for a better go at the snacks. But Lance has seen her worm her way up close to Hunk's side and lay her head on his shoulder. He won't point it out.</p><p>     They also collectively learn that Lance's beauty routine will not be interrupted, that Pidge has a generally caustic personality but cares about them both, and that Hunk stress bakes. And other, more minute things, like Pidge will not eat peanuts, but peanut butter and peanut butter cookies are somehow okay. </p><p>     And so weeks go by, and then a couple of months. Lance finally doesn't miss his family as much, but the ache is still there. When his mama calls, or when he snapchats his siblings, he assures them all that he is well. That he's perfectly okay. </p><p>     Like when he was in high school and was hanging on by a thread, but now that seems like it was so stupid and selfish for him to feel like he wasn't loved. He still feels like he isn't good enough, but he will never tell anyone. It doesn't matter. Not as much as their happiness, he wouldn't make them worry like that. </p><p>     One morning, out of pique, Pidge asked Lance why he took such long hot showers, telling him that it steamed up the apartment. He avoided telling her it was because he was probably depressed and that it made him feel less like dying, less dirty, that he wanted to wash the bottomless sad feeling out. Instead of telling her that, he struck a feminine pose he knew was flattering, a pose familiar from hundreds of repetitions at work, and he said, "Flawless beauty can't be rushed."</p><p>     She gave him an unreadable look and chucked a pillow at him, telling him that his soap "made the whole apartment stink like eucalyptus mint." </p><p>     He uses that body wash to try and help cope with stress. The vain hope that it will take away some of the constant worry. </p><p>     He swallows the hurt of that comment, tossing the couch cushion back before going back to his room with the coffee and buttered toast he no longer wanted.  With a sigh, he sets it on his desk and stares at it for a while, feeling the swell of fluttering anxious nausea. He feels like crying, but his eyes don't swim with tears. <em>Does he stink? He wants to go wash it off. Is that smell offensive? Has he been subjecting his roommates to suffer the stench of him?</em> God, he just wants to cry to release some of the <em>feeling,</em> but there are no tears<em> left</em>. That's what took him so long to leave the bathroom, the stupid <em>crying.</em> For some reason he just couldn't stop the tears from falling. It was the worst kind of crying, too, the kind where there was no sound, no reason beyond an empty hopelessness. Just tears.</p><p>     A half hour passes, though Lance doesn't know it. He's still standing there after thirty minutes of staring blankly at two slices of toast and a mug of coffee that has long since gone cold. When the soft knock on his bedroom door comes, he doesn't hear it, nor does he hear when the door opens a crack or the soft apology almost whispered through the inch opening. He misses, too, the soft click of the door shutting again. Lance does not notice anything for a little over an hour, when he suddenly feels very, very tired and slides into bed, eyes burning. He doesn't bother to take off his shoes, instead he just closes his eyes, not caring. </p><p>     Hours later, when he wakes up, Lance has a throbbing headache. His neck hurts and his muscles feel weak which takes him by surprise when he goes to get out of bed. He picks himself up off the floor and takes it more slowly this time, willing the swimming dark spots from his vision. <em>Slow, deep breaths. Get the blood moving, idiot</em>. </p><p>     He has a missed call from his mama. He should call her back, but he sends her a text instead. "I am at work Amá. I will call later tonight. Love you!"</p><p>     The guilt of lying to her is not as heavy as the guilt of telling the truth would be. Her reply comes moments later. "I love you! Call when you have time!" He tosses his phone onto the bed, watching it bounce to a stop on the pillows. Quietly, he goes into the bathroom and shuts the door. His body wash stares him in the face. Angrily, he snatches it off the shelf and throws it in the trash as hard as he can, feeling absolutely none of the satisfaction he thought he would when the flimsy plastic bottle cracks and leaks the shimmering green soap into the bag. Lance eyes the rest of his bath products. They all smelled so good, he thought. </p><p>     Silently, slowly, he picks them up one by one, and throws them out.<em> Goodbye, mango dream, eucalyptus mint, and lemongrass,</em> he thinks as he watches them drop heavily into the can. <em>Our time has passed</em>. Lance bundles up the bag and takes it to the outside trash, waving at Pidge, Matt, and some other guy sitting with them in the living room, as he passes by the three of them on the way out.</p><p>     Once outside, Lance realizes that his pullover isn't nearly enough for the weather, but he doesn't really feel like going back to get his coat, so he pulls up his hood and walks. He doesn't know where he's going, yet. </p><p>     After a few blocks Lance spots a food truck and makes a beeline for it. The food doesn't interest him, but the hot drinks do. The girl at the register takes his order and lets him know it'll just be a minute for his chai latte to be ready. </p><p>     The latte is delicious. He tells her so, with a wink, which makes her blush and he tips her $5.</p><p>     Feeling a little happy, he decides that he's going to the aquarium. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. 4. Don't Trip</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>     Lance can't remember ever feeling so cold as he did now, stepping into the lobby of the aquarium. Why hadn't he taken the bus? He's stamping the feeling back into his feet and rubbing frozen hands over his arms when someone streaks past him into the building. He distinctly hears them mutter "<em>sweet-baby-jesus-why's-it's-so-fucking-cold</em>". Lance's teeth chatter and he moves away from the door. </p><p>     "One adult ticket, please." </p><p>     "Are you a student?" the man in the window asks in a monotone that tells Lance he is clearly tired of today, and will probably go home to drink. a lot.</p><p>     Nodding, Lance goes for his lanyard, then realizes that he's not wearing it because it's sunday, and says. "Yeah, but I don't have my I.D.</p><p>     The man sighs, mutters something, then says. "One adult ticket, $45."</p><p>     Passing over his debit card, Lance waits patiently for the man to charge it and print out a receipt. </p><p>     Overall, the aquarium isn't crowded. A few groups of children toted around by clearly flustered parents pass by, but Lance doesn't mind kids or their noise. It just makes him miss running the outdoor summer camp back home. Maybe he'll go back over the summer holidays to work the camp and pick up shifts at the club in Georgiana to pay for the apartment. A smile creeps onto his face at the thought. Two weeks of camping, outdoor crafts, swimming in the lake, canoeing...sounds great right about now. </p><p>     Someone walks past Lance as he's coming out of a daydream and he recognizes them. It takes a moment for him to place them, but once he does, he feels his face flush hot with embarrassment. It was him. </p><p>     <em>The hot guy from the bus</em>.</p><p>     He was here.</p><p>     <em>He works here</em>.</p><p>    Horrified, Lance swallows an undignified squawk of embarrassment and goes to walk past the guy unnoticed. Uncooperatively, the other man chooses that exact moment to look up from the spot on the floor he was sweeping. Their brief moment of eye contact sent an electric jolt of...what? Interest? Desire? Lance didn't know, but he didn't like it. He didn't want to find out. Before he can get away, the guy reaches out a tentative hand and snatches it back a few inches from Lance's upper arm where it would have made contact. </p><p>       It's hard to tell in the dark, but Lance thinks that the guy looks nervous. He speaks up first, hating it, but he can't leave it alone. "What?"</p><p>     "I just--" the guy shakes his head, as if to clear it and crosses his arms over his chest. "Nothing. I though you were someone else."</p><p>     <em>Okay? Weird.</em> Lance can tell he's lying and wants to push it, but lets it go. He says, "Um, Okay." and moves on. </p><p>     He wants to enjoy the rest of his visit, he really does. But he can't<em>.</em> He just keeps thinking of that <em>guy</em>. What he keeps seeing is a pair of intense, catlike eyes and hair as black as jet falling around a face to die for. </p><p>     Lance stops in his tracks when he realizes it. <em>Oh no. No.</em> he tells himself. <em>Absolutely not.</em> <em>You're not doing this to yourself <strong>again</strong>. </em></p><p>     But he<em> is, </em>and he can't stop it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. the rebound?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>     Lance can't stop thinking about it. <em>The conversation,</em> as he's come to think of it. The more he thinks about it, the more he wants to forget. The more he wants to forget, the more he wants to do something stupid, like drink. He should not drink. </p><p>     When he drinks he turns into a hugely promiscuous flirt. It doesn't end well. It never ends well. </p><p>     That is how on a thursday morning, Lance wakes up next to a complete stranger, who is fairly attractive but in a cocky way, even while he's asleep. Lance groans. This is probably the worst hangover he's had in a couple of years.</p><p>     Ah, regret, he knows it well. </p><p>     Peeling himself stiffly off the bed, Lance is glad that he at least remember last night well enough to know that the guy at least used a condom. Unfortunately, he remembers that the guy played his kinks like a violin. <em>Ugh</em>, Lance screws up his face at the taste in his mouth. His teeth feel mossy, he needs to brush them. </p><p>     He pees, washes his hands, then ferrets around in the hotel's complementary crap until he finds a packaged toothbrush. He opens it and brushes with water, since the toothpaste was already open. Seeing as he had that guy's tongue down his throat last night it wouldn't really matter now if he used his toothpaste or not, but... he didn't want to think about it. </p><p>     "Hey, babe."</p><p>     Lance spins around so fast he cracks his knee on the cabinet under the sink. He grunts with pain and doubles over to clutch at his now throbbing patella. "God fucking damn it." he hisses, voice an octave too high. The man kneels down next to Lance and offers to help him over to sit down. Reluctantly, Lance takes the the offer and fights down the nausea. </p><p>     Suddenly, there's a bottle of water in front of his face. "Here. You need to hydrate. You were pretty drunk last night." He looks sheepish. "I was too, honestly, but...um, do you remember..."</p><p>     "Yeah," Lance cuts him off with a gravelly dry voice and cracks open the bottle, taking a swift sip to soothe his parched throat. "Do you?"</p><p>     "Yep." </p><p>      They end up having breakfast, but neither one of them talk about the night before. Lance learns that his partner from last night is named Rolo. He also learns that he's the first guy Rolo has slept with. Rolo is straight. He was curious. </p><p>     Lance sighs with relief, taking a sip of coffee. </p><p>     "What?" Rolo quirks a brow. </p><p>     "Relieved is all," Lance admits. "I was a little worried you'd be one of those guys who'd come back for more."</p><p>     A flash of curiosity passed over Rolo's mask of cocky charm. "Did you not enjoy yourself, because I swear last night you--"</p><p>    "Yeah, okay," Lance's face flushed. "Shut up. That's not what I meant. What I meant was that I'm not someone who usually sleeps around."</p><p>     "Ah." recognition. Rolo gets it. "Rebound sex then, got it."</p><p>     Lance thinks about it for a second. Was it rebound sex if the guy you liked didn't know you existed? If you went to his workplace to spy on him, 3 times a week for the past couple of weeks? Probably not. "Sort of," lance says and chews a piece of bagel. Swallows. But it was since he'd elected not to essentially stalk the guy anymore. Then, withering under Rolo's steady gaze, he looks away and admits in a whisper, "yeah, it is.."</p><p>     But why did it have to hurt so much to admit?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Neighbors</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Lance: Hunk, buddy, you have to tell her</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Hunk: Lance we've talked about this. I can't just tell my boss that I like her </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Hunk: ROMANTICALLY</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Pidge: Guys, come on, not in the group chat. I don't need to know about your mushy love lives.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Pidge: especially you Lance</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Pidge: How many guys have you even fucked this week? 12? </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Pidge: If I have to hear one more story of conquest over breakfast I'm going to hurl in your cereal bowl and make sure you eat it.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Hunk: Ew gross</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Hunk: And another thing</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Hunk: when was the last time you guys even ate cereal?</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Hunk: I'm pretty sure I make you guys breakfast, you know, EVERY. DAY.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Lance: Yeah, Pidge</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Lance: Don't dis the resident gourmet</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Lance: Do you want him to poison us? Geez</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Lance: also you literally just asked about my love life</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Pidge: I did not</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>(Lance has sent an image: at 12:03 p.m.)</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Lance: Proof. a screenshot of you asking if i have slept with 12 guys. this week</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Pidge: photoshop</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Hunk: clearly photoshop</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Lance: Hunk!</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Hunk: nah i'm with pidge on this one, buddy. you need to slow down</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Pidge: HA! See?</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Hunk: but seriously pidge, do you guys secretly eat cereal when I'm not around</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Lance: I like what I do :3</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Pidge: lance eats cereal</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Pidge: I eat your delicious food</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Hunk: Awwww thanks pidge</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Lance: PIDGE YOU TRAITOR!!! D:</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Pidge: Dude I've seemn you eat like five bowls in a row</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Hunk: really??? That can't be healthy!</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Lance: I like cheerios ok? sue me</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Pidge: you are a disgrace.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Pidge: I swear you're an old lady I just haven't figured out how yet</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Lance: listen just because i like GOOD cereal and crafting does not make me an elderly woman</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Hunk: craft skills are useful pidge</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Hunk: remember when lance fixed your socks?</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Pidge: yeah he darned them LIKE AN OLD WOMAN</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Lance:  OH I SEE HOW IT IS</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Lance: SEE IF i FIX ANY OF YOUR SOCKS FOR YOU IN THE FUTURE</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Lance: Hunk I will still fix things for you </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Lance: You are my hero</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>     "Why did you stop coming to the aquarium?" </p><p>     Lance's heart skipped a beat at the smooth baritone. He looked up from his phone and shivered when he saw the face he'd been trying too hard to forget. Somehow, he felt exposed. Here, in the place where he found confidence, he felt raw like an exposed nerve. Swallowing, Lance opened his mouth but couldn't will himself to speak. </p><p>     The man took the seat at the bar next to Lance. "I got so used to seeing you with your sketchbook I wondered if you were okay."</p><p>     "How did you find me here?" Lance asks suspiciously.</p><p>     "I'm a regular," he says, offhandedly, flagging Joyce down. "I've known you work here for a while."</p><p>     Joyce sallied up to the two of them, grinning, eyes darting to lance momentarily before she spoke. "You want your usual, Keith?"</p><p>     He nods and she goes off to get whatever it was</p><p>   <em> Keith. So that was his name. It was so...plain.</em> He hadn't known what he'd been expecting, but it wasn't<em> that.</em> Lance realized he'd been staring and looked away after Joyce who had started mixing something. What is wrong with me? </p><p>     "So, who are you?" Keith looks at him, pointedly, out of the corner of his eye.</p><p>     "Uh, the name's Lance?" It came out sounding cocky, perturbed, out of reflex from being hit on too many times. Inwardly, Lance cringes at himself. </p><p>     Keith didn't seem to notice. "Lance," he tries out, face souring like he'd just taken a bite out of something rotten. </p><p>     "Dude, you don't--"</p><p>     "Lance? Keith?" Pidge is standing between them, looking between the two. Lance can practically see the wheels turning in her tiny little goblin brain. </p><p>     He isn't sure that he likes it.  </p><p>     "Katie?" Keith's brows shoot up with surprise. </p><p>     "Keith!" Her face lights the fuck up with a smile and she jumps into his arms for an awkward hug. </p><p>     Unwanted, there is a flash of jealousy. Lance tamps it down, quickly, but he can't keep the sharp point out of his voice. "So, you two know each other, I take it?"</p><p>     "Yeah!" Pidge, now with her feet firmly back on the ground, explains that they were friends in high school because their brothers were best friends.</p><p>     What? Lance was confused.</p><p>     Pidge makes a sound of disgust. "Lance, we were practically neighbors, we lived in the same neighborhood. We went to the same school. We both have older brothers similar in age. Our bothers were friends, so we were kind of stuck with each other?"</p><p>     Keith narrows his eyes at her. "Stuck with me, were you?"</p><p>     She looks unimpressed and ploughs on, ignoring him. "So, how did you two meet? Keith doesn't really get out much."</p><p>     "Hey!" Keith protests. "I go out. I'm out right now!"</p><p>     "Well?" Pidge is practically willing the answer out of him. </p><p>     "We kind of just met, actually," Lance admits.</p><p>     "Hm, ok. Anyway, I have to go. Matt and Shiro's stupid asses are here somewhere and I need to rescue them from some girl hitting on them."</p><p>     "ooh!" lance coos. "Are you going to make a scene? Please, tell me you're going to make a scene! Can I watch? Please?"</p><p>     "Ugh, no. Forget it."  </p><p>     Keith watches the exchange without expression but Lance notices his eyes follow Pidge's tiny form until it disappears into the crowd. He feels unreasonably jealous again.</p><p>     "So, Keith," Lance wants to pull his attention away from Pidge. "what was it like growing up with that goblin?"</p><p>     To his surprise that gets Keith to crack a small smile. "You call her that, too?" </p><p>     Lance shrugs, as if to say "if the shoe fits." But inside, he's jumping for joy, rejoycing. He wants to see a full blown smile on this gorgeous boy's face. In fact, he needs to. </p><p>     Looking amused, Keith continues. "Well, she's pretty much the same as she was then. Devious, tiny, scary good with computers."</p><p>     "Scary in general?" Lance interjects, thinking vaguely of the first time he'd tried to talk to pidge before coffee. No one should talk to pidge before coffee. That is not a human pidge, it is the devil and it will scar your soul for all of eternity. </p><p>     A dead look of dread passed over Keith's face. "Yeah."</p><p>     "How charming..." Lance muses.</p><p>     "So, how do you know her?" Keith asks, bringing Lance's attention back</p><p>     "She's my roommate."</p><p>     Keith nods.</p><p>     "Are you in school?"</p><p>     "No," Keith says, stiffly.</p><p>     Lace shrugs it off.</p><p>     "I'm a fine arts major, but I've never seen any art as fine as you," he gives Keith a crooked grin and winks before he can stop himself. It made no sense. He hated himself for it.</p><p>     He hated himself even more when he realized Keith was extremely uncomfortable. </p><p>     "Ah, sorry, man," he cringes at himself. "I'm not that great at communicating."</p><p>     "It's....um, it's okay." Keith looks away. </p><p>     <em>Wait. </em></p><p>     <em>No. Surely not.</em></p><p><em>     Wait, really?</em> Lance is stunned. He blinks. Was he imagining it or was Keith <em>blushing</em>? Briefly, he wonders if the mai tai's have gone to his head. But, no, Keith was actually blushing at that stupid, terrible, cheesy, thoughtless pickup line, and Lance is happy. When Keith finally manages to look back at Lance, he looks embarrassed, then irritated. </p><p>     Joyce plonks Keith's drink down in front of him and Lance takes the chance to abscond to the dressing room, offering an awkward goodbye on his way. He does his best not to think about Keith having watched him dance. He knows that it should be embarrassing with how seductive and sexual it is. But up until now it hadn't been embarrassing. </p><p>     Now? </p><p>     Lance felt like he'd been pushed off a cliff, because now it was embarrassing. </p><p>     Just who else that <em>mattered</em> had seen him at his most vulnerable and disgusting?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. unmasked</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Lance does not go home for summer break. </p><p>     "Mimi's Lounge, what can I do ya for?" Joyce says into the phone, then hands it to Lance. "It's for you, Hotshot."</p><p>     "Hello?" Lance isn't sure who would be calling him at work. Pidge, maybe?</p><p>     "Uh, hey, do you maybe want to..." Lance's heart flutters at the sound of Keith's voice.</p><p>     "To...?" He prompts.</p><p>     "Hang out? Go do an activity...with...me?"</p><p>     Lance can't stop the smile from spreading over his face. "An activity?"</p><p>     "you know what," Keith says, quickly. "it was a stupid idea. Sorry. Forget that I--"</p><p>     "I'd love to!" Lance chirps, panicking a little. He didn't want to give Keith the chance to back out now. </p><p>     Keith is silent. Lance's stomach flip-flops anxiously. "Unless," he says, heavily, feeling his mood deflate. "Um, unless you don't want to. Sorry. I shouldn't have, um...<em>fuck</em>, I'm sorry." Lance's voice cracks and he hangs up, tears pricking in his eyes. Why was he so stupid? God, was he really about to push keith into hanging out with him? How fucked up is that? <em>Why am I such a crybaby? It's so stupid. </em></p><p>     "Whoa," Joyce's eyes widen. "Hey, Lance, are you okay?"</p><p>     Lance shrugs, wiping tears off his face. "Yeah," he nods. "I'm okay."</p><p>     Before Joyce can ask anything else he makes the excuse that he needs to go get changed for tonight. Tonight, he wears something a little different than usual. He's found a periwinkle blue skirt that falls just below his hips, covering bare minimum, but that doesn't matter much since it's made of a soft sheer fabric you can see through. Underneath, he wears a white boatneck leotard with a keyhole back, accented with the same periwinkle blue as his skirt. For makeup, he goes for Audrey Hepburn. He gets it, then adds a little flare so it'll pop under the shitty club lighting, then a swirling, almost celtic pattern in dark blue and green over his cheekbones. </p><p>     He sets it, rolls some glitter over his cheekbones, the bridge of his nose, his collarbones. then, after a moments inspection in the mirror, he shadows his jawline with to make it more defined. He resets his makeup and smiles at his work. Not bad. </p><p>      Mia pokes her head in and eyes him appreciatively. "Lance, hon, you look hot." </p><p>     He winks, then grins. "When am I up?"</p><p>     "Hang on." She disappears and comes back a few moments later. "So, Johnny is finishing up, like, right now. So...maybe 10 minutes?"</p><p>     "Ok, thanks," he says, grabbing his stuff and shoving it in his locker. "I'm going to go up, then."</p><p>     She pops her hip against his, giving him a sideways smile. "Knock 'em dead, kid."  </p><p>     The moment right before he goes on stage always feels like he's about to pass out, but the moment never comes. He always collects himself a split second before he leaves the back, like flipping a switch, he's confident. </p><p>5 months later</p><p>It is December 12th</p><p>     Pidge slides into the half moon booth last. She's next to Matt, unfortunately, but at least Hunk, Shiro and Shiro's asshole boyfriend, Adam, are all here to temper Matt's idiocy. She's glad that the lights are dimmed out here when there are performers, because she doesn't want Lance to see them watching. They just found out yesterday that he dances here for a living, and that was only because she overheard him talking to his boss on speakerphone about covering someone's shift for tonight.</p><p>     This was not what she expected. Even the first steps he takes onto the main stage with the first few notes of music are captivating, not to mention the cranberry red number he's wearing fits him like a glove. And Pidge can't help it, her jaw drops. He is literally the clumsiest, gangliest person she knows, but here, he's...graceful. Glancing back at the table to see the others' reactions, she found that they were all looking at each other in awe. After a few seconds she recognized the song as Who's Laughing Now by Ava Max which was kind of predictable for him, but ok. That seductive fuck made it work. And, <em>damn</em>, he could work his hips. </p><p>     "<em>Fuck</em>, does he even <em>have</em> a spine?" Shiro sounds equal parts horrified, amazed, and impressed. He hasn't torn his eyes away form Lance working the pole, so he doesn't see the look Adam shoots him. Hunk is just watching, slack-jawed and impressed. The song crossfades into Sweet But Psycho by Ava Max. Right before the end, though, though, Lance struts back to the main stage where the silvery blue aerial silks hang. He makes a show of taking off his silver heels, showing off his legs and ass as Born To The Night by Ava Max starts and he works his way up the silks more gracefully than should be possible. </p><p>     Pidge's heart stops and she gasps when he does drops because, fuck, it actually looks like he's letting himself just...fall. His face is serene. The grace and fluidity speaks of years of practice. For a few moments of silence, he hangs upside-down, arms horizontal, motionless, before the next track starts and it's Faded by Alan Walker. The motion is hypnotizing and he makes it look effortless. With the last strains of music, he takes a ballerina's curtsey and people lose their minds. </p><p>     "He isn't even breathing hard." Keith's awed voice in her ear make her jump, a shriek of surprise escaping her lips. Scowling, she whacks him gently on the arm. "Don't DO that. You nearly gave me a heart attack!" she hisses. "How long have you been sitting there?"</p><p>     "Only for the last two songs, I didn't know you guys were here, but I saw you and joined." his brows raise sardonically  "Not that any one of you noticed."</p><p>     Keith glances at the now empty stage. "You guys should probably go before he comes out here for a drink. He's kind of surprisingly shy."</p><p>     Pidge gawks. "Shy?"</p><p>     "Yeah?" Keith is confused by her reaction.</p><p>     "Lance?" Pidge is eyeing him. "Lance McClain. Lance fucking Finger Guns McClain?"</p><p>     Keith blinks. "Um, yes?" </p><p>     "The others can leave, but I have <em>got</em> to see this." Pidge snorts. </p><p>     The others do, in fact leave. Adam and Shiro heading out with Matt in tow, all three gushing about Lance's performance, then Hunk leaving to meet Shay, his boss who is now also his girlfriend. Pidge doesn't even want to touch that last dumpster fire with a ten foot pole. Luckily, Lance was all too happy to shove Hunk's ship off to the harbor where it was doomed to sink. Keith takes up a place at the bar, while Pidge elects to stay in the booth in favor of having a good people watching seat. People, namely being Lance and Keith. </p><p>     It's nearly twenty minutes before Lance sits directly next to Keith at the bar, wearing a hoodie and fitted jeans. His hair is damp and curly, makeup is gone , too. Pidge wonders if there's a shower in the back. She cringes.<em> Ew</em>. Lance's back is to her, so she walks closer so that she can overhear the conversation.</p><p>     "Ava Max tonight, huh?" Keith intones and Pidge wonders how the fuck Keith-emo-music-Kogane knows Ava Max. </p><p>     Lance nods "I was in a mood when I was picking my setlist. It was going to be that or something extremely explicit, so I went with her. Rosco doesn't appreciate explicit shit on weeknights, saves that for weekends."</p><p>     "why?"</p><p>     "People tend to drink more when they don't work the next day, so they are less likely to remember being offended," Lance shrugs "that, and people fuck more on the weekends."</p><p>     Keith flushes and looks away. That was an interesting development, Pidge thought. </p><p>     Lance pulls up his hood and yanks on the strings until only the lower half of his face is showing. "Keith, I don't think I want to go to school anymore."</p><p>     "Why?"</p><p>     "I..." Lance trails off. Pidge notices he's picking at the fraying ends of his sleeves. "I don't know." </p><p>     That <em>I don't know</em> sounded heavy, like it was a million hard reasons, just one wasn't good enough. Something about it sent up a red flag in her mind.</p><p>     Keith sighs and pulls one of Lance's hands into his own, turning it over and rubbing circles into the palm. Pidge is surprised. Her whole life, she's never known Keith to touch anyone voluntarily to comfort them. Lance seems to crumple in on himself, then, pulling away. He rested his head on his arms on the bar. Keith gave Pidge a look that said "Go, you don't need to see this. I'll explain later."</p><p>     Reluctantly, she nods and leaves. </p><p> </p><p>     Lance knows he's being stupid and selfish. He feels bad for taking up Keith's time. In fact, he feels bad all the time, now. Before, it was just a day here or there, maybe a week or two. But it's been<em> months</em> since he felt okay.</p><p>     Right now, he finds it just takes too much energy not to cry so he lets it happen. It's not like anyone can see his face like this anyway. Keith won't even know. He knows because he's done this with his hood before, it soaks up the tears. the perfect disguise. </p><p>     Or it would be if Keith hadn't made him sit up and pulled the hood off before he could do anything. And just like that, there he was, raw and broken, terrified and unmasked for all to see. Naked, ugly emotions. Lance ran for the bathroom, dodging people walking between tables. He barely made it into the stall before he vomited hard enough to make his nose run. His eyes watered now from throwing up and not just the shame of dragging other people into his problems. His throat burned, his nasal cavity burned. Lance tried to steady his breath, but he couldn't because he couldn't breathe. </p><p>     Keith came in when he was throwing up, but this time all that came up was bile. He didn't want Keith to see this. He didn't want <em>anyone</em> to see this. This ugly part of him he has successfully hidden since he was a little kid. But now, Lance is 24 and shaking with anxiety, yanking his hood over his head as he is sitting on a disgusting public bathroom floor in a bar of all places, hugging his knees and hiding his stupid snotty, tear streaked face from the guy he has a crush on. He can't hold it in, he howls and sobs into his forearm, biting it, willing it to stop, but he can't. He's overtaken by shuddering, gasping sobs and doesn't realize at first that there are arms around him. </p><p>     A gentle, warm pressure over his shoulders. He wants to lean into it. He won't. He just lets it happen. Eventually, he quiets, his breathing evens out and all he has left is an empty, cavernous feeling. He's a hollow shell of a person. Dread. Shame. Regret. Sadness. </p><p>     <em>Selfish</em>. Lance thinks to himself. "S-sorry." he manages, pushing Keith away. He can't face him "I d-didn't m-mean to...I'm-m sorry.."</p><p>     "Lance..." Keith's voice is quiet, unsure. </p><p>     "Just go," Lance pleads. "I want to be alone." </p><p>     "Lance, I don't--"</p><p>     "please, Keith," he whispers, close to tears. "I need to be alone."</p><p>     Silently, Keith stands. He stays there for a moment, then slowly, he leaves Lance by himself. </p><p>     </p>
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